


Contained

by stephanericher



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then they’d gone to sleep and now it’s morning and Lance would very much like to join Hunk in going back to sleep but all these thoughts are bouncing around in his head like tennis balls when all the courts at the park are filled by terrible amateurs who serve the ball so hard it hits the fence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contained

For as long as Lance has known him, Hunk’s had the uncanny ability to wake up, have a lucid conversation, and fall right back asleep. The first time he’d done it, right after they’d become roommates back at the academy, Lance had thought he’d been faking it, but no one can keep something like that up for this long (and seeing it from this perspective, his face just inches away from Hunk’s, the moment Hunk’s breathing evens out and his grip softens ever-so-slightly right after his eyelids flutter shut, confirms it’s no lie). And he’s just done it again; he’d even been the one to start the conversation but now he’s burrowing under the covers and pressing up against Lance. He’s so warm, and this is so cozy, but it would be even cozier if they could just talk right now.

The rain picks up against the ship’s window, hitting in a not-quite-pattern the way Lance’s oldest brother had sounded when he’d first started playing the drums, too light and off-beat, and once again Lance wonders if he squeezes his eyes shut he’ll get transported back there. Except with Hunk there, too. (He’s not sure how any of that would work, but if they’re in a universe with flying robot lions and evil alien warlords, that ought to be possible.) Or maybe if he squeezes his eyes shut, really tightly, he can imagine that he’s back home on a rainy day with a flood warning that won’t amount to anything more than those stupid alerts on everyone’s phones and the murmur of his brother’s terrible “music” mixing in with voices of the early risers and the sound of a clattering, moving house where everything’s shoved tightly together.

Some days he wishes the castle wasn’t so damn big.

The rain slows down; it seems to be coming in waves, and Lance vaguely remembers Coran’s way-too-in-depth explanation about the weather cycles on this planet that Pidge and Keith (nerds) had been paying way too much attention to, because all that had really mattered was that it was acid rain but the ship will be fine and that they should stay down here until the weather clears up in a few days and the path through the atmosphere is clearer. And then there had been something else about exact pH but Lance had been tuning it out already because he’d been tired and leaning against Hunk, and Hunk had pinched his thigh to try and get him to stay awake but they’d both been paying more attention to each other than to Coran. Or to the weather.

And then they’d gone to sleep and now it’s morning and Lance would very much like to join Hunk in going back to sleep but all these thoughts are bouncing around in his head like tennis balls when all the courts at the park are filled by terrible amateurs who serve the ball so hard it hits the fence. There are too many of them and they’re all over the place and even if he can’t articulate them all, talking to Hunk about something (or even about nothing) might get him calm enough sleep for another hour or so.

“Hunk,” Lance says.

Hunk doesn’t move. Lance nudges him with his foot.

“Hey, Hunk. Wake up.”

And then Hunk blinks, rolling halfway over onto his back before readjusting onto his side again, his hair falling over into his eyes.

“What’s up?”

There’s space between their bodies now; the air between them under the covers is way too cold and Lance wriggles over to close it.

“Isn’t this kind of like home?”

“Huh?”

“Home home,” says Lance. “You know, not school, but like when it rained at home and lying in bed and stuff.”

Hunk’s brow creases in that cute way it does when he’s annoyed with Lance (only ever with Lance somehow). “You know what I’d do on those rainy days, Lance?”

“What?”

“Sleep.”

Lance huffs. Hunk doesn’t really get it, and this isn’t helping him at all. He still wants to go home but he wants to be here (and he needs to be here) and he wants to be with Hunk and he wants to feel that pH-neutral rain against the flat windows of an ordinary house and he wants to wrap the blankets all the way around both of them so they can’t get out and can just take the day off and hide away from everything.

“Lance?”

Hunk’s voice is softer; his face is softer (that crease is gone). Lance looks at him.

“I know. I get it.”

And he pulls Lance closer and plants a kiss on his nose. Lance squirms; that’s not enough. He ducks his head as much as he can in the limited space between Hunk and the bed and kisses Hunk on the mouth; he parts his lips and then Hunk pulls away.

“Not with your morning breath.”

“You’re my boyfriend; you’re supposed to want to kiss me all the time.”

Hunk snorts. “No comment.”

“If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.”

“I’m going back to sleep, Lance.”

“So romantic.”

And then Hunk kisses him, probably just to shut him up but Lance is fine with that, because even though his mouth is closed it’s pretty nice and Hunk’s lips are warm and soft and Hunk’s hand is pressed against the small of his back and this actually is kind of romantic. Except they’ve been kissing for a long time (how many ticks? Lance is never going to get used to these alien units of measurement) and Lance’s lungs are kind of starting to burn because he hasn’t taken a breath and then, finally, Hunk pulls away. He grins at Lance, as if he’d wanted him to get all out of breath like this, and then drops his head back to the pillow and shuts his eyes again.

But that’s okay. The crook of his shoulder is right there, easily accessible and so soft, the perfect place for Lance to rest his head (and his thoughts have already come to rest here, right here, contained).

**Author's Note:**

> i love writing lance pov...........................


End file.
